I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,370

Wasn’t that really him simply saying he felt uncomfortable and so took the easy way out?

He raised an eyebrow. “No one could ever describe me as a family man, and your mother was a good person.”

“I know.” I didn’t want him talking about my mother. “She did the best she could.”

“Which was pretty damn good given the way you turned out. You’re a beautiful, bright, accomplished woman. And I can take none of the credit.”

We could both agree on that, but it was uncomfortable to hear it. I’d expected an argument, for him to justify what he’d done. Instead I was getting a mea culpa. I didn’t know what to do with that.

Was he just telling me what I wanted to hear?

“It’s a shitty excuse, but I guess I didn’t feel I could do anything but make the situation worse. The best way I knew how to contribute was through money.”

Did he know he’d also contributed to my insecurity, my pain, my lack of trust? He focused on what he gave rather than what he’d taken away.

“And I was young and I was working twenty hours a day and . . .” His eyes went wide. “You know. I liked the women. So I guess I felt like a hypocrite then, trying to play the family man.”

“I guess the first time you got a girl pregnant that would make sense.” My mother had been the first woman he got pregnant, but he should have learned his lesson.

He nodded. “You’re right. I haven’t just made mistakes in my life, I’ve repeated them. But I have to answer to my other children about their situation. I’m describing my reasons for acting the way I did with you.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

He sighed. “Why would I offer you a job when you so clearly held me in contempt? It was different with your brothers—they allowed me to make amends.”

I laughed. “Right. So this is my fault.” Typical. I’d expected him to shift the blame so I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I’m not blaming you, but somehow I built a relationship with your brothers.”

Jealousy tugged at me. Why had they ended up with a father?

“I’d hoped we would do the same, but while you were at college, you cut off all contact.”

“And you threw money at the situation by setting up the trust?” I asked.

“I guess. I thought that at least if you were okay financially for the rest of your life then I didn’t have that guilt to live with.”

“So it wasn’t because I’m a girl? Woman.”

“What?” He chuckled, a look of surprise on his face. “Of course not. You made it clear you didn’t want a relationship, and if I’m going to be completely honest, I didn’t want a constant reminder of how I’d failed with you. It’s hard knowing your kid hates you, sees you as some kind of monster. Even harder to know it’s in some ways justified.”

I couldn’t speak. Had I let the lack of job offer fuel my resentment? Or had those feelings been there all along? “Is that why you told Max to drop me from the team?”

He took a deep breath. “Partly. But also because I couldn’t engage a company for a large amount of money when my daughter was involved in the account.” He held up his hand, indicating he hadn’t finished. “I know I employ my sons, but I don’t manage them, and their salaries are considerably less than what I would have spent with King & Associates.” He swept his hand through his hair. “I should have mentioned something at lunch, or called you afterward. It was just that things were civil between us and I didn’t want to ruin that.”

He laughed and put his head in his hands. “It’s like I lose all sense of judgment when it comes to you. I get things wrong however hard I try.”

Everything he said made sense, but instead of feeling relieved or happy, I felt cheated. As if someone had stolen my justification for hating him. He’d fucked up, gotten it wrong. But the way he explained it, his actions no longer sounded malicious. He was either the best liar I’d ever come across, or he was just a flawed human being. Maybe there was a bit of both there. It was as if I’d been suffering a chronic pain for years and, now it had just disappeared, I’d forgotten who I was without it. My hatred had become such a part of me that without it,